


Know What's on the Menu? Me-N-U.

by captainsassmerica



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Humor, Kinda, M/M, Mild Language, POV Derek, Romance, Sexual Humor, Stiles is a Little Shit, Texting, but he means well, idk - Freeform, mention of mates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-26
Updated: 2014-07-26
Packaged: 2018-02-10 12:09:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2024637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captainsassmerica/pseuds/captainsassmerica
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek receives a series of anonymous text messages containing questionable content.</p><p>Or:</p><p>That time Stiles was trying to get Derek to go out with him but couldn't figure out how to ask.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Know What's on the Menu? Me-N-U.

**Author's Note:**

> First, thank you for reading! You guys rock, and comments, kudos, bookmarks, and all of those rad things make me love you all the more for being totally awesome people. UuU  
> Second, every incredible text message exchange (except between Derek and Scott) is made up of direct quotes from conversations taken off of this absolute gem of a blog: http://straightwhiteboystexting.tumblr.com/  
> Third, all typos and grammatical errors in the text messages were intentional. Anything OUTSIDE of the messages was not. So if you spot anything, please feel free to let me know!
> 
> Thanks again for reading, and I hope you enjoy it! Let's be friends on tumblr, I'm captainsassmerica!
> 
> Dedicated to Emily, for finding that incredible blog and sharing it with me in the first place, omg.

The first time it happens, Derek is sprawled across his couch, just nearly dozing off while watching television late one Thursday night. His phone vibrates sharply across the table’s surface, screen shining to an abysmally holy level of light in the dark room. It does this four times in a row before he deems it worthy of his full attention. He reaches forward, barely grasping the thing before knocking it off the table with a grumbled curse. On the second attempt, he scoops it from the floor, squinting as he unlocks it to find a text from an unknown number.

 **MSG** : Hey watsup, you know a lot of your friends lol  
 **MSG** : Lol wait  
 **MSG** : I know a lot of your friends  
 **MSG** : Do you want to bone in my zone? (;

Derek stares at his phone in a combination of annoyance and confusion, reading through the messages more than once. He pauses momentarily, locking the screen, and lays with the phone placed on his chest, staring quizzically toward the ceiling. What? He picks the phone back up, grazes through it a final time before typing out a message of his own.

 **DH** : I think you may have the wrong person.

He finds that polite and simple enough, sends it out, and waits patiently. After ten minutes pass without another message, he figures the sender has realized their mistake and carried on with their evening. Derek then makes his way to bed, entirely unaware of the storm to come.

The second time it happens, Derek is grocery shopping. He’s just about to grab a loaf of bread when his pocket shivers, alerting him of an incoming message. He slips his hand into the pocket and pulls out the phone, acknowledging yet another unknown number.

 **MSG** : Hey how’s it going  
 **MSG** : Do you live on a chicken farm? Cause I'm sure you know how to raise a cock.

Derek stares at the messages in disbelief, cheeks reddening, slightly. He looks around him quickly, with some vague hope that this anonymous messenger would somehow reveal themselves to him in the middle of aisle six of the local supermarket. It takes him a few seconds to compose himself enough to reply, feeling oddly scandalous even taking part in such a conversation in public.

 **DH** : I’m sorry, is this the same person from last Thursday? I don’t believe I’m the person you’re looking for. I think you may still have the incorrect phone number.

The reply is almost instantaneous.

 **MSG** : No they’re meant for you, Derek (;

Derek’s eyes widen as he reads the message – reads it again, just to make sure he isn't going temporarily blind. He glances around him once again, frowning now.

 **DH** : Who is this?

No reply.

 **DH** : Hello?

He waits a few minutes, cautiously grabbing the last of his items and making his purchases before getting into his car and tossing his phone into the passenger’s seat. Five minutes of silence pass. He stares at the phone, which seems to be staring right back at him, and he honest to goodness growls at it, low in his throat. He contemplates calling the number back, but chooses not to, for fear of who or what may answer. Another minute passes before he gives up, turning the key in the ignition and driving home.

The third time it happens, Derek is sitting in on a pack meeting. Scott is talking about general town protection – border patrols, weekend scouting, etc. – and Derek really is paying very close attention, up until he feels that familiar, dreaded feeling in his pocket. Scott is about the only person who ever takes the time to send him text messages, and he’s been watching Scott the entire time. That means that either suddenly someone wants to get back in touch, or the anonymous person is back again.

Derek reaches down slowly, plucking the suddenly heavy device from his pocket. Sure enough, he’s received a message from an unknown number. The first thing he does is add the contact as “Anonymous Texter.” He opens the message and can’t bring himself to actually read it for an additional twenty seconds.

 **AT** : I hope you like dragons, because ill be dragon my balls across your face tonight

He doesn't realize he’s reacting so strongly until Scott’s waving a hand in front of his face, looking him over with worry over how quickly his heart is pounding. Derek assures him that he’s fine and apologizes, makes up a story about how he isn't sure he locked his door at home. He knows that Scott knows he’s lying, can tell from the arched brow and more-crooked-than-usual jaw. But Scott says nothing about it, just pats him on the shoulder and continues speaking, and Derek is entirely grateful, but knows that, eventually, it will come up again. He isn't sure what he’s supposed to say.

The fourth time it happens, Derek is sitting in the small café in town, reading a book in the back corner. His phone buzzes beside him – an occurrence that now consistently fills him with dread – and he picks it up, sighing in relief when it’s Scott, just reminding him that he’s to give the woods a once over that evening, just to make sure everything is as it should be. He replies, letting Scott know that he’ll absolutely be able to, and sets the phone down again. A moment later, it goes off again. He assumes that it’s Scott just saying thank you, but it’s not – it’s the Anonymous Texter.

Derek swallows his coffee, closes his book, and sits it in his lap, folding his hands on top of it. He takes one long, deep breath before reaching for the phone and opening the message.

 **AT** : Hi  
 **AT** : So let's pretend your sitting down. I point to the left side of your hips and say "if this is Christmas..." and point to the right side of your hips and say "and this is new years.. can I cum in between the holidays?" (;  
 **DH** : Okay, seriously. Who is this? Do I know you?  
 **AT** : Of course you do lol  
 **DH** : Then who is this?  
 **AT** : Play along next time and I’ll give you hints. (;

Derek doesn't reply.

The fifth time it happens, Derek decides he’s had enough – he’s going to play this game. He’s lying in bed, early one Sunday morning. It can’t be any later than eight AM, and he’s still groggy, tangled in the sheets and barely able to force his head up from the pillow. That is, naturally, when his phone decides to go off.

 **AT** : How’d you sleep? (;  
 **DH** : Just fine. It’s still early.  
 **AT** : Yeah. What did you sleep in?  
 **DH** : My bed.  
 **AT** : Yeah? What did you wear? (;  
 **DH** : Clothes.  
 **AT** : Ohhh not naked?  
 **DH** : No.  
 **AT** : Ohhh no fun  
 **AT** : What you wearin now?  
 **DH** : Clothes.  
 **AT** : Sexy.

Derek decides he’s had enough for one morning. He gets up, places the phone on the nightstand, and goes to take a shower.

He’s only safe until that evening. He’s lying in bed, casually eating a bowl of cereal. It may not be an appropriate location, but it’s comfortable, and cereal is his favorite late night snack choice, and really, he’s got no one but himself to impress. When his phone vibrates beside him, he doesn't even flinch.

 **AT** : What are you doing  
 **DH** : Laying in bed.  
 **AT** : Mmm… Just laying in bed? Nothing else..?  
 **DH** : I’m eating cereal.  
 **AT** : Lol nice  
 **AT** : What would you do if I was in bed next to you?  
 **DH** : Eat my cereal.  
 **AT** : Lol I mean if the cereal wasn't there?  
 **DH** : Then I’d get out of bed and go get some cereal.

This time, it’s the Anonymous Texter that doesn't reply, and Derek takes it as one small victory on the road of learning who his assailant is.

The final time it happens, Derek is having lunch. It’s been three days since his last conversation with the Anonymous Texter, and he was nearly beginning to think that the worst of it was over.

 **AT** : I want to fuck you  
 **AT** : Whoa auto correct lol  
 **AT** : We should mate (;  
 **AT** : Date! We should date sometime. Socially. Go out and kick it.

Derek stares at his phone in disbelief. He silently prays that the word “mate” really was something that was corrected by their phone, because it’s the first mention of anything werewolf related at all. That could mean that either A, whoever this person was definitely knew what Derek was, or B, it really was a mistake, and Derek was being too literal. Either way, this sounded like the perfect opportunity to nail – figuratively – the person who was doing this.

 **DH** : Sure. I assume you live in Beacon Hills?  
 **AT** : I do (;  
 **DH** : I’m free this evening. We’re meeting publicly.  
 **AT** : Café 6:30 in the back left corner with the pretty tables  
 **AT** : Derek  
 **AT** : DEREK  
 **DH** : 6:30 is fine. I’ll be there.  
 **AT** : Buy me a coffee.  
 **DH** : Fine.

Six rolls around, and Derek has actually put effort into his appearance. He isn’t sure why he bothered – after all, it sounds more like an elaborate trap, than anything, but at least if he’s about to die, he’ll look handsome while doing so. He decides to send a message to Scott, just to play things safe.

 **DH** : Going out tonight. If I don’t text you back by 6:45, assume something is wrong.  
 **SM** : Where are you going? Do you want somebody to come???  
 **DH** : A date. I think. The café.  
 **SM** : ???  
 **DH** : Hard to explain. Might be a trap. Playing it safe.  
 **SM** : I’ll be waiting to hear from you.

So Derek goes. He arrives at 6:30 on the dot, immediately purchasing two coffees. So far, so good. No one in the room looks as though they’re trying to kill him, and that’s a nice start. He tries to get a feel for the atmosphere. Everything is homey and warm, save for the thick scent of worry, permeating through the building. He tries to ignore it, assuming it’s a student worrying over finals or something similar, and starts heading to the back left corner with the “pretty tables.” The scent is only becoming more overpowering, the closer he gets to the back room. He stops outside the door, taking another deep, slow breath to calm his nerves. Finally, he steps in, eyes scanning the corner mentioned.

It’s there that he finds Stiles, sitting there staring at him like he’s about to shake right out of his seat with nerves. Derek can’t do anything but stare right back at him, unable to move, or even say anything for the first fifteen seconds he’s standing there. He eventually makes his way over, quietly sitting the coffee down in front of Stiles and taking a seat across from him.

“So…” he begins, and Stiles looks at him, glances at the phone in his hands, then back to him.

“Heeey,” Stiles replies sheepishly, and Derek cannot bring himself to stop staring at him, expression blank. Stiles wrings his hands before folding them around the paper cup before him. “Thanks for the uh, the coffee. That you bought. And stuff. It would be really cool if maybe you could talk a little, or something. Maybe yell a bit, I don’t know. Something?”

Derek finds that, really, he isn't angry. Not like he ought to be. Frankly, he’s just confused.

“How did you get my number?” is all he can think to ask, and Stiles takes a sip from his coffee before responding.

“Scotty's phone. He didn't know. Still doesn't know, actually. Didn't really know how to tell him.”

Derek remembers at that point to text Scott back.

 **DH** : Not dead. Talk to Stiles.

Derek looks back to Stiles, sitting before him. “Tell him what? That you decided it would be fun to screw around with me for three weeks?”

“No, I—it wasn't like that? Well…yeah, I guess it was like that, wasn't it? Uh, I meant it? I mean, not all like that, but—“

“So you want to have sex with me?” Derek asks, brows furrowing.

“Absolutely. I mean – shit, wow – uh, yeah. Yes. But also other things?”

“Other things.”

“Like, y’know, date…things. Romance things, I don’t know, shut up.” And Derek is full-on squinting at him across the table, arms crossed in front of his chest defensively.

“And this is how you decided it would be best to let me know,” he begins, and Stiles nods, burying himself back into his coffee.

“Look, it’s not like I could have just walked up to you and been like ‘Hey Derek, fancy seeing you here! Gosh, I sure do find you really cool and handsome, we should probably date and stuff.’ Like, no, that’s not how that would have gone down.”

And then, Derek’s laughing. He’s laughing so hard that people three tables over are glaring at him, and he doesn't even care. Stiles, on the other hand, looks absolutely pissed.

“See, this is why. This is exactly what I was expecting, hence me not saying anything in the first place.” He starts getting up, ready to leave, when Derek grabs him by the wrist and gently tugs him back into his seat, shaking his head at him.

“No, hold on, you don’t get to be mad. I’m only laughing, because that’s the most time consuming way to get someone to go out with you I've ever heard. And if you’d just asked, I probably would have said okay.” Derek huffs out another small laugh, opening his contacts and changing the information from “Anonymous Texter” to “Stiles Stilinski.”

“Wait, you… really?”

“Yeah,” Derek says, and really, what else is there to say? This time, Stiles is the one looking him over inquisitively.

“I still meant everything I texted you,” he states evenly.

“I don’t doubt that. In retrospect, I’m not sure how I didn't already know it was you.”

“I was sure the mate one would give it away.”

\---

Later that night, as Derek is lying in bed trying to reevaluate his entire existence after everything that happened over the past few weeks, his phone goes off again.

 **SS** : Do you like bacon?  
 **DH** : Yes.  
 **SS** : Wanna strip? (;

Derek rolls his eyes, a light smirk working its way across his lips.

 **DH** : Stiles?  
 **SS** : Yes, my hot potential future boyfriend?  
 **DH** : Go the fuck to sleep.


End file.
